


All I Can Feel

by LadyAmalthea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Hostage Situations, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Red Ice (Detroit: Become Human), Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 23:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAmalthea/pseuds/LadyAmalthea
Summary: Hank's drug bust goes wrong. Fast. Turns out this group is a lot more fucked up than he remembered.





	All I Can Feel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reis_Asher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/gifts).



> Inspired by Reis_Asher's "Blue"
> 
> This is dedicated to Reis_Asher, for his incredible work in this fandom. 
> 
> Authors tag their works when appropriate, because we want to extend a courtesy to others before they read something. If you read this, and didn't enjoy it because of the dark content, it was your decision to keep reading.
> 
> We post because it's an artistic outlet. Its cathartic, it stimulates us. You don't pay a single cent for anything you read. We do this because we love it. Receiving hateful feedback is terrible, but also shouldn't happen on a personal level. 
> 
> Respect is freely given, and bullying leaves lasting marks.

_ August 2037 _

 

Hank’s sting operation had been a complete bust.

 

He told the Captain that having a rookie as his backup was a bad idea, and the patrol car around the corner couldn’t get there before they were found out. Thrown into the back of a black van, he was knocked out cold for only God knows how long.

 

When he came to, he was in an old warehouse. No way in  _ fuck _ he knew where he was, stripped of everything but his clothes. Bastards even took his sneakers, not like he couldn’t replace them… if he ever got out of here.

 

They wanted to know everything. His contact who spilled on their information and meetup spot, how long the DPD had been onto them, all of it. 

 

Hank told them, honestly, that he’d been on them for years. He’d been made lieutenant eight years ago, and this was the last group of fuckers he couldn’t manage to take down from the original six trafficking entities they had identified. What a fucking joke that it all came down like this.

 

Hank was a completely different man all that time ago. He was married, a baby on the way, and somehow it had all unraveled until he was left with nothing but a bachelor pad and a dog. A lot of nights recently had been spent drowning his sorrows with his revolver tempting him from across the room. Maybe not tonight, but one day he’d load it for a game of Russian Roulette. Might as well have been tonight, for all Hank knew. He volunteered for this gig, he knew the risks it came with. 

 

When the fellas stalking around him, tied up to a shitty metal folding chair, realized they weren’t getting anything out of him, they tossed him in the nearest room with a lock from the outside 

 

Trapped in the middle of a large facility, Hank’s leg bounced in awful anticipation of what would happen next until he wore himself out enough to fall asleep against the concrete wall.

 

\--

 

He woke up to a sharp stinging on his face.

 

“Wake up, fuzz,” one of the goons sneered at him.

 

If he could throw a punch right now - he tried to move his right arm but it wouldn’t budge much more than a few inches when he felt cold steel on his wrist. He looked down; he was cuffed to a medical bed, his legs strapped down with duct tape.

 

“Hey, what the hell is this-mmph!” Even trying to bite his captor was pointless as a long, patterned banada was wrapped around his mouth and behind his shaggy hair.

 

An unfortunately familiar face, a short, snotty looking guy, approached Hank with long needle, flicking it with gloved fingers like he was some kind of doctor. “All right, Lieutenant, I think you’ve avoided this long enough, haven’t you?” 

 

Hank flinched away, protesting loudly beneath the cotton cloth as he was held down, and the needle pricked into a vein in his arm. It burned fiercely; he screamed hard enough to make his throat raw. When the drug hit him, it was like a rush of adrenaline, and he broke free from the hands holding him against the bed and twitched angrily as he tried to sit up.

  
  


“Wheel him back to storage. If we’re lucky he’ll OD on the next dose, and then we won’t have to worry about dealing with him.” 

 

The wheeled gurney was roughly rolled into the room he was in before, nearly smashing into the wall as the door was slammed and locked. 

 

It started with the shivering, burning ache through his muscles. He felt like just a little more and he could rip the damn handcuffs off the rusty old gates on either side of him. All he managed was to shimmy the wheels around a little, but hardly going anywhere as he groaned in raging frustration. 

 

And then his mind played tricks on him. He heard voices; he ex-wife chiding him, his mother and sister laughing at his jokes. His son… his son crying in his arms. Screaming and whispering all at once;  _ “What happened, Daddy? Where am I? I’m scared… I’m SCARED!” _

 

The sounds made Hank want to bash his skull in. He could see their faces, the people in his life who were gone, whether by death or his self-inflicted isolation. He hated it, hated it so much. 

 

Just like the drug's name, everything started with red. The burning, anger, the energy from wanting to rip your skin away and forget the world. 

 

And then ice. The blistering cold, numbness after. He stared at the ceiling, not even sure if he was breathing at all, let alone awake. The red rings around his wrists felt like nothing. The now-damp cloth covering his mouth felt like nothing.

 

Maybe he really was dead. Was this what death would feel like? Just a floating consciousness, trapped in a body, until it all wastes away from the detachment from touch? He couldn't tell the difference between the view of the ugly drop-ceiling and the distasteful dark of his closed lids.

 

All he could do is wait. Wait and see if this was truly the end. 

 

\--

 

His eyes opened. Still strapped to the bed, but with no sense of what time it was. Had he been asleep for an hour… or a day?

 

He's gone through three doses of the disgusting shit. Somehow it had become amusing for the drug dealers to see their arch enemy blitzed out of his goddamn mind and body with ice. It was disgusting… but they at least kept him fed, so long as he wasn't puking. He still growled and snapped at them rabidly each time, even though he was getting used to the experience. 

 

No… he wasn't addicted. Not to this… but… the feeling was so much more intense than even the best drinking binges. He had thought about death, his own death, for months. This was the closest he would get to living it over and over. He deserved it. 

 

He had probably been there a few days, maybe even a week, when he heard a new voice. 

 

He had just woken up from another post-drug haze that sort of resembled sleep. The dealers were yelling amongst themselves. There was shuffling, a  _ thud _ of a foot hitting flesh, and a pained yelp from the new voice echoed through their warehouse floor. 

 

He heard one of them come toward his room, opening the door. “Hey, fuzz, you want some action, too?”

 

_ What? _

 

The man sighed, “are you gonna behave if I fucking uncuff you?” he asked. Hank nodded, hesitantly but anything to stand up for a little while. His legs were killing him, and the cuffs and duct tape were removed, the bandana long gone at this point. 

 

As he stood up, he heard something that made his heart fall.

 

“No, no please don't! Let me go!” The voice of a young man pleaded, panting heavily between words. There was the banging of metal, and the ripping of duct tape. Fabric was ripped, accompanied by frantic screaming and begging.

 

Hank followed the dealer who released him anxiously, the sight before him making him want to puke.

 

They were all circled around the source of the sounds: a handsome, young brunet who hardly looked a day over 25. His slender wrists were bound with silvery tape, clutched fearfully to his bare chest; the tatters of what had been a tshirt on the floor below him. He had been throw against a metal shelf, pressed against it with nowhere to run. 

 

“Well, who wants him first?” one of them asked, pulling a bottle of lotion from a drawer on their desk of paperwork and stacks of cash.

 

Their leader stood forward. He was hardly taller than the brunet, but even from behind Hank could heard him unzip his pants and start stroking his sock. “Open up, kid,” he demanded.

 

The young man looked on in anguish, opening his mouth to protest as he was cornered. “Please don't… I didn’t do anything! Just let me go, I won’t say a word to the police!” He cried desperately before being smacked across the cheek.

 

“On your knees, bitch!” 

 

Defeated and crumbling, the young man dropped down, grimacing when immediately his mouth was filled.

 

Hank turned away. Sure, he had been stuck here with no sexual release for what felt like eternity, but he wasn't going to do  _ this _ . He wouldn't stand around and let it happen, either.

 

He took large strides forward, trying to push his way through when he heard the click of a gun’s safety. “Don’t even think about it, fuzz.”

 

Hank cursed under his breath, stepped away as he heard the man grunt as the sick, wet noises got louder. The leader gave a breathy exhale,  a slurp ringing across the room, and Hank chanced a glance to see the brunet's face splattered in thick, whitish cum. He turned back away, disgusted and pissed at himself for the pressure building in his sweatpants. It made him nauseous and self-conscious, especially when it was pointed out by one of the cronies.

 

“Hey look, even the five-oh is liking the show,” one of the older guys pointed out.

 

Some of them turned around and chuckled darkly, and the guy with the gun stepped up to Hank. “Well c’mon.. warm him up for us. And maybe we'll give you your new favorite thing again, huh?”

 

The bottle of lotion was tossed at the floor beside the man kneeling, who looked up at Hank in exhaustion. “Fuckin’ no way on hell,” Hank said, stepped away.

 

Before he could react, the gun was swiveled around and a warning shot rang out, the blast firing at the floor right next to the young man. He winced away, breathing hard in surprise and fear.

 

“Jesus Christ!” Hank yelled in surprise, and was shoved forward. It wasn't until then that he noticed how much larger he was than the person before him. At least several inches in height and nearly a hundred or so pounds of body mass. He could snap the skinny guy like a toothpick; and it disgusted him that it was exactly the reason he was getting pushed into this. Sick bastards…

 

The recently completed man stepped away, already lighting a cigarette in his mouth as Hank ambled forward. 

 

The younger man stood up, leaning back up against the shelf, resigning to his fate as he began sliding off his sneakers and trying to work off his jeans (and failing). Hank shoved the bottle from the floor in his pocket, sympathetically leaning in to help. “Easy, easy…” he said, and then toning down to a whisper. “I'm really sorry… I wouldn't if I-” 

 

The man nodded, “I know,” he replied, stepping awkwardly out of his jeans. 

 

Hank hated himself for this. He hated everything. He especially hated how absolutely gorgeous this man was, which made the whole situation so much harder.

 

Reaching for the band of his sweatpants, he drew the front down just far enough to expose his still-growing erection, earning a hushed gasp from the nude brunet. He was about to pull out the small bottle, when he felt a hand on his arm, and a voice growl “hold still.” 

 

“Mppph!” Hank bit his lip as the sharp sting entered his arm like he was getting a flu shot. It was a slower burn to start, like sections of his skin were radiating and throbbing from below. 

 

And then it hit. The first wave smacked him like a brick wall, as he started to stroke himself with the lotion, pinning the younger man against the shelf and hoisting his legs up so their hips met. 

 

They both looked down, a tad flustered, both noticed the difference in size between them. The man being lifted looked away with flushed cheeks. Hank breathed hoarsely through the high; unfortunately used to it enough to have some level of control, and slid one of his slick hands around behind to work the man's asshole.

 

“You… done this before?” He asked.

 

The man nodded, but his eyes twitched as Hank worked a finger inside. 

 

“I'll go slow for ya… what's your name?”

 

“C-connor…” he said.

 

Hank nodded, “okay Connor, I'm Hank. If you need me to slow down, whisper ‘yellow’, okay?” 

 

“Mmmmhmm…” 

 

Luckily, the men around them were too busy with the view to pay attention to what they were saying, but one of them yelled out for them to ‘get on with it’.

 

Hank pulled out his fingers, holding a hand against the small of Connor's back to lean him forward against Hank's drumming chest, aiming the head of his dick so it was lined up with its mark. He felt hot breaths against his chest, the shaking man in his arms was warm to the touch from the single movement. He slowly eased him down, wishing to God he could go even slower with every whimper coming from his partner. 

 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry…” he whispered again, even though his body was not. The hole was tight and warm around him, and it had been the first time in a while that something other than he hand had made him shudder with pleasure. 

 

To his surprise, Connor leaned in and whispered, “you… feel so good...f-fuck…” 

 

And that was enough for Hank to raise him back up a little, and then give a little thrust up like a piston just starting to get warmed up. He pushed in a little more, the soft moan making his head spin circles. Bottoming out, they both gave a relieved exhaled, and then Hank's need urged him on, and he gave in with a good, solid thrust.

 

“Ahhhh-hhh!!” Connor gasped, his hands desperately reaching to hold something, only managed to rest his wrists awkwardly on Hank's shoulder.

 

Grinding faster and faster, Hank banged him against the shelf in a slight rush; he was dying for some release and just wanted the whole thing to be over with. The short breaths in his ear were erratic, small hints of moans flourished in the inhales; they urged him to keep going. It didn't take nearly as long as he usually did, between the drugs and his forced celibacy for so many days left him with a dying need and was being incredibly satisfied.

 

“F-f-fuck…” he grunted, speeding on and careening through his orgasm, feeling his cum leaking out behind him as he pulled out of the pert asshole.

 

If he had been thinking more clearly, he would have apologized for how unceremoniously he placed Connor down on the floor. But the second he did, he was pushed away and brought back to his room, the wheeled bed taken away and he was locked in again.

 

Guilt weighed on him through the emotionally wracking high; he could hear each of the drug dealers taking turns, using their new playtoy's ass and mouth greedily and much less carefully than he did. Connor cried louder and louder, sobbing and begging, until finally it had seemed all of then had done their turn. 

 

It was quiet for a minute, then some grunts and laughing, and silence again until the door was swung open.

 

Connor was now cuffed down like Hank had been, but he wasn't struggling. One of the dealers stuck Connor with what looked like a bigger dose than what even Hank had gotten,  tossing the needle in the corner before leaving.

 

Hank was left with the sound of heavy breathing; panicked, squeaking breaths as Connor squirmed uncomfortably. 

 

“Hot… help it's… I'm burning!” Hank recognized it, that first stage and the fear and overwhelming  _ everything _ . Connor’s breaths became more ragged, rattling the handcuffs. ‘N-no! Make it stop, please!!”

 

Hank hardly had the energy to stand up, but he was gonna do what he knew he would've needed through the experience. And after what happened out there… he owed the guy that much. He gently took Connor's hand that was closest to him, using they other to lay flat on his barely-haired chest.  

 

“Keep breathing, you’ll be okay, ya hear me?”

 

Hank's presence barely even distracted Connor, let alone scare him like Hank was worried about. His face was already red and tear-stained, beads of sweat sliding down his skin. Hank spoke softly, talking to Connor through it as best he could. The poor guy was exhausted; violently trying to somehow get away from the fire in his body, only wearing himself down to nothing. 

 

He struggled for so long, Hank refusing to leave his side, still holding the hand as he sunk down to the floor. Nearly asleep, he could hear Connor, terrified, transition to the next phase of the high. The hand became clammy and had a tremor to it; the rasping breaths becoming eerily quiet as Hank felt the bed shift around. Pulling himself up, he saw Connor try to curl to his side, shivering and teeth chattering. 

 

It felt wrong to let go of his hand, even for a moment, as Hank pulled off his enormous hoodie. He still had a tshirt beneath, although both smelled like shit from days of wear. The sweatshirt was placed over the bare torso, Hank hoped it was enough to help.

 

Connor didn't seem to mind the smell at all; he grew a little calmer, but whispered incoherently at the ceiling for a few minutes before trying once more to lay on his side. His stare felt like it was plunging deep into Hank's soul with big, brown doe-eyes. The bigger man wanted to crawl back into his corner and throw up; how did this innocent looking guy end up here? He had tried not to look, but the young man was clearly malnourished and thin. God, it was heartbreaking for Hank.

 

Eventually the warm eyes fluttered shut, and Hank took that as a sign that he was falling asleep, carefully stepping away to rest against the wall. 

 

A while later, he had no idea how long, he awoke to the small sounds of struggling, seeing the young man try to wriggle one if his hands out of the handcuffs. “They make them pretty damn tight here, no use trying,” he warned, causing the man to jump.

 

Connor sat up slightly, just enough to look over the bars of the bed, “I'm sorry if I woke you.”

 

Hank waved a hand, “don’t worry about it, hard to get much sleep around here anyway.” He rubbed his neck, days of strangely half-sleeping weirdly left him sore all over, but his neck was the most strained. It didn’t help at all that his head was pounding hard. “Connor, right?” The man nodded. 

 

“Those drug dealers… they called you ‘fuzz’ and ‘five-oh’... you a cop, Hank?” Connor asked, managing himself into a sitting position, since his legs hadn't been restrained like Hank's had been.

 

“Yeah… been chasing these guys for a while. Things didn't… go as planned,” he admitted.

 

“But… the police know you're missing, right? They will be looking?” Connor asked, voice desperately trying to be hopeful.

 

Hank merely chuckled, “they better be. But… I've been here several days already, so who knows how long it'll be.” 

 

Connor looked down, “ahhh…” was all he said.

 

Hank squinted, “so why'd they bring  _ you _ here? You don't look like you use that shit.”

 

“No, no I-” Connor paused, “I was out in the alley behind the warehouse looking for somewhere to sleep.”

 

And with that, Hank's suspicions were confirmed. “I’m… I'm sorry.” 

 

The door clicked, and then opened, a grocery bag tossed in, and before it closed Hank yelled out. “Hey, wait a minute!”

 

One of the dealers swung the door open again, growling at Hank. “What is it, fuzz?’

 

“Please, can you uncuff him? He won't pull any shit, but his hands are in there too tight,” Hank insisted, hoping his ‘good behavior’ was enough to convince him.

 

The dealer looked on Connor, who nodded weakly, and he stepped over with a small ring of keys. “You owe me your mouth later for this, kid.” 

 

Connor sighed in relief as his hands were freed, watching the dealer leave with a grumble as they were trapped once again. He swung his legs over the side of the bed while Hank inspected the contents of the bag. 

 

“Bottle of water, thank fuck, some snack bars. Not bad, I guess,” he commented; he tossed the emptied plastic bag aside and took a much-needed swig from the bottle. He looked up to offer some to Connor, and saw him clinging to the edge of the bed with his head falling to the side. “You all right?”

 

“Fine, just… lightheaded,” he mumbled, chancing a step down with the hoodie clutched in his hands.

 

“You can keep it, since you don't have a shirt or anything. Might be a bit big on ya,” Hank said, patting the spot against the wall beside him.

 

“Thank you,” he said, shuddering in the warmth as he slipped it on over his head, and joined Hank on the cold concrete. He accepted the bottle of water, carefully trying to only have a small sip.

 

“How long you been on the streets? Have a little more, it's all right,” Hank said, unwrapped one of the granola bars and tossing the other in Connor's lap.

 

“Got thrown out a couple months ago, but I had been couchsurfing until a couple weeks ago. Managed to take a few showers at the Y, but…” he took a bite of the sweetened snack bar, smiling as he chewed the nibble. “God, I never thought these would ever taste so good.”

 

Hank smiled back, a little half-heartedly in pity. “Have another sip of water, really,” he insisted.

 

Connor reached for it, but retracted his hand, “no, no we should save it. We don't know the next time they'll…” 

 

“You're right, we don't, but better to have it now so they don't take away later.” Hank said, putting the clear bottle in Connor's hand, watching him take another gulp. 

 

They talked quietly for a little while before Connor was dragged out to… perform his services. Hank wanted to object, but the better they played along the higher their chances of survival. It wasn't too long before Connor was pushed back in, but he looked even more broken than Hank had expected. 

 

He stood up immediately, catching the smaller man as he stumbled forward and took bunches of Hank's tshirt in his hands. “They… they're gonna leave us here! They gotta move everything and...and lock us in here and-” he sobbed.

 

“Woah woah, easy. Tell me slower, what happened?” 

 

Connor looked desperately at Hank, “because you're a cop… they know you're being looked for. They are packing up and moving everything tomorrow, a-and they're gonna leave us here.” 

 

“Shit…” Hank swore. They needed an escape plan, and they needed one fast. Who knew if that door was even going to open again before that happened. “Go sit down for a bit, did they hurt you?” 

 

“No but.. but I puked when one of then shoved their…” he couldn't even finish the entrance before he collapsed in the corner, resting his head on bent knees.

 

“Get some rest, I'm gonna try and work on this door,” Hank said, trying to fiddle with the handle and lock as best he could.  He could hear the men outside talking: one last job and they they'd pick up and move to another warehouse. 

 

There wasn't enough time. They were trapped.

 

\--

 

Hank gave up. He sat down beside Connor, mutually resting their heads on each other's. They hadn't talked about their uncomfortable first meeting, or escaping. They stayed in agonizing silence; Hank couldn’t fall back asleep if he wanted to, but Connor was out cold. His hands were stuffed into the pocket of the hoodie, only giving a little twitch here and there. 

 

They had tried prying the door open, breaking the handle, even slamming the wheeled bed like a battering ram in hopeless attempts. The water bottle emptied, and the snack bars long gone, it was an exhausting realization that they might never be coming out.

 

Finally, there was some kind of noise. It sounded like the dealers were back, but they immediately just started barking at each other as they started to pack away everything. It was like they completely forgot about the two men they had locked away; they were just going about their business.

 

Hank turned his head gently, peaking around the raised hood to check on Connor. His unlikely partner in all this was still asleep, but he was so pale and hardly breathing that Hank feared his body was starting to shut down. 

 

“Connor, you still with me bud?” He asked gently, giving a little nudge. 

 

The man hummed, shifting a little but refusing to open his eyes. “I think so,” he mused.

 

Hank exhaled, “I’m fucking pissed I can’t get us outta here… I’d give anything to pet my dog again.”

 

Connor turned a little more, looking up, “you have a dog?”

 

“Yeah… a big, 170-pound goofball of a St. Bernard. His name’s Sumo,” Hank described, only missing him even more.

 

Connor chuckled, “I would also give anything to pet your dog, I really like dogs.”

 

“Well, if by some miracle we get out of here I’ll make that happen.” Hank offered, extending his hand, “promise.”

 

Connor accepted the handshake, feeling even more fevered at the feeling of Hank’s big, rough hand around his. “Anything else you’d do? If we ever get out?” He asked.

 

“For starters, I’d smack my fucking backup for abandoning me during the operation that got me here. And then I think I’d…” he trailed off.

 

“What? You can tell me, at this point it’s only a hypothetical, right?” Connor reminded morbidly.

 

“I’d… I’d visit my son’s grave for the first time in months. Been too busy to go more often… no, that’s a lie. Been drinking myself stupid, and I’m pretty sure a cop getting booked for public intoxication wouldn’t go over well.” He said, and then turned it around. “What about you? Maybe guilt-trip whatever asshole threw you out onto the streets?”

 

Connor shook his head, “no… I - I couldn’t do that to my mother.”

 

“Oh…” Hank breathed.

 

Shrugging, the smaller man continued, “I’ve never been good enough for her. I moved back home after getting laid off. And then she found out that I’m…” he huffed, “not... straight. And that just about did it.”

 

“Yeah? My family was pretty fine with it, ‘course that’s cuz I came out as bi just after getting married to my now ex-wife, so… I’m sorry. It’s fuckin’ dumb that people are still shitty about that stuff.”

 

From beyond the door, they started to hear yelling, and more footsteps. Dozens… dozens of boots and things slamming about. They looked at each other, and Hank got up to go listen through the door. There was gunfire, small spurts of shots, and Hank could hear voices through fuzzy radios.   
  
“Shit! I think my boys in blue finally pinned these bastards!” Hank said, listening in and then pounding on the door. “HELP!! Let us out of here” He heard a few voices confirm that there were trapped victims that needed to be rescued, and he stood away from the door. “Hear that, Connor? We’re getting out of-” He turned, and saw Connor had collapsed on the cold floor.  “Connor!” He rushed down lifting the man’s head, his skin chilled and pale.

 

He heard the pounding on the door, “Please step away from the door, we’ll extract you shortly,” a man yelled. 

  
“Hurry, please!!” Hank called back.

 

The door was ripped open, two men in SWAT gear at the ready with guns drawn just in case, and then stood aside for two medics to rush in. “Are you Lieutenant Hank Anderson?” One of the medics said, quickly pulling him away from Connor and checking his vitals.   
  
“Yeah... how… how many days have I been missing?” 

 

“Nearly eleven days according to our captain. You good to stand and walk?” They asked.

 

Hank nodded, hoisting himself up and watching the other medic wake Connor, who immediately backed away in fear. “It’s okay, they’re here to get us out.. cm’here..” he reached down, pulling Connor up and helping him out the door through the warehouse floor. As they followed a few of the SWAT men, Hank could smell the awful, metallic stench of blood in the air, and turned to Connor, “keep your eyes on the floor. Don’t look around.”

 

Connor did so, and as they passed by the bodies, Hank wanted to spit at the deceased drug dealers that left them for dead. Good riddance.

 

When they made it outside, it was the dead of night, but the emergency vehicles flashed all around enough to light up their way. They were escorted to an ambulance, and Hank refused to leave Connor’s side unless he absolutely had to. Once they got in, two different EMT’s started asking them personal questions: their names, what happened, standard procedure stuff. 

 

“I’m going to hook you up to an IV, okay?” One of the medics said to Hank, earning a nod and he looked away as they pricked his arm.

 

The other medic said the same to Connor, but he back away from the sight of the needle. “No… no please don’t!” 

 

“Sir, I’m going to need you to cooperate, you are extremely dehydrated. It’ll help you feel better.” They insisted.

 

Hank turned, careful not to jostle his arm too much, “it’s okay Connor. Just focus on me, all right? Look away, don’t think about it.” He took Connor’s hand, looking at the frightened eyes softly with a nod.

 

Connor nodded back, closing his eyes as the EMT prepped his arms, squeezing Hank’s hand as the thick needle went in. He hissed, but when it was over he went a little limp and leaned on Hank’s shoulder the rest of the ride.

 

At the hospital, they were finally separated, being placed in different recovery rooms. Thankfully, they were just down the hall from one another, and weren’t expected to stay more than a night. Hank waited for a nurse to bring him something to eat, and when they returned they brought a guest.

 

“Well fuck me, if it isn’t Jeffrey Fowler here to see little ‘ol me,” Hank joked.

 

Fowler shook his head in disbelief, “Anderson, you look like shit.”

 

Hank laughed loudly, “not my fuckin’ fault this time, now is it?” His friend and superior took the seat beside his bed.

 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get you sooner, Hank… I really am. Those bastards were hard to catch, ya know?” 

 

“Yeah…” Hank sighed, “sorry it was just… it was hell, Jeff.”

 

Fowler flipped open a notebook, “you ready to give a statement yet? Or the...uhhh… that other guy who was there with you?”

 

Hank rolled his eyes, “not yet, just… how’s the kid doing? You seen ‘im yet?”

 

“Nahh, but Chris was gonna talk to him. No way in hell I’m gonna let Gavin get on this, he’s not good at that kinda shit yet.” Jeffery stood up, patting Hank on the shoulder, “wanna take a walk?”

 

They walked slowly down the hospital wing, Fowler’s shoes squeaked against the linoleum, and noticed Officer Miller standing outside their destination. “Sorry, Captain. He said he’d be okay to talk about it, but then just kinda shut down. I didn’t know what to do…” 

 

Hank rushed passed his co-workers, not hesitating for a moment to hold the trembling man in his arms, “shhh, I gotcha. It’s all over, we’re safe,” he soothed. One of the monitors was beeping fiercely has Connor’s heart raced, slowing coming down with time. 

 

“I’m… I’m sorry… I didn’t-”

 

“Nothin’ to apologize for. You don’t have to give your story now, you can wait,” Hank insisted, waving to Fowler that they needed some time. Connor sniffed, reaching from Hank’s chest and around to properly hug him. 

 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

  
  


\--

  
  


Knowing Connor had nowhere to go after being discharged, Hank ordered a cab home and dragged Connor in with him. He’d thankfully left his phone at the station, so one of the officers brought it to him at the hospital, so on the way home he’d ordered pizza. Sumo had been brought to Fowler’s after Hank went missing, so the dog would be dropped off in a couple days once Hank got re-settled. It felt strange, coming back to his house after two weeks; it wasn’t any cleaner than when he left. 

 

Connor walked in behind him, feeling a little out of place. Hank made a beeline for the fridge, grabbing his first beer in what felt like months. The bottle hissed as he removed the cap, and offered one to his guest.

 

“Sure, I’ll have one,” he replied, sitting beside Hank at the table. 

 

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping on the malted beverages. Connor turned, mouth opened and closing a few times before deciding on how to phrase what was in his thoughts. “I just want to say that… I really appreciated how careful you were with me. When you… when we…” His cheeks turned dark and rosy, looking away as he bit his lip. “I meant what I said, you know.”

 

_ you… feel so good...f-fuck… _

 

“O-oh?” Hank stuttered, trying not to choke on his beer. 

 

“Maybe not tonight, and definitely not in those circumstances, I wouldn’t be opposed to…” he panted heavily, “maybe… seeing if there’s something there? Between us?”

 

Hank smiled, reaching a hand across the table to take Connor’s in his, “I think I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was unsure about posting this until today. I'm glad I am.
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @canticumexvacui


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